


Shortness of Breath

by hazzarat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Blood Imagery, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Romance, fairytale, folktale, so beware jic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzarat/pseuds/hazzarat
Summary: The Wind is your enemy. Do not befriend her or aim to tame her. Do not let her catch you alone for she will take you away.Everyone knows she doesn’t take prisoners.It’s the first thing any of the children in their village is taught. It comes before addition at the schoolhouse, or how to properly wash your clothes in the stream. The threat of the Wind is spoken of before the threat of a stranger for no stranger is as strange as the Wind herself.No matter that Maria had grown the same as every other child in the village, she felt a strange connection to the wind. She never tried to go near it, simply helped her grandmother tend to their crops, then helped her father—whilst he was still filled with fervour and life—load their yields into their rickety old cart.
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 18
Kudos: 71





	Shortness of Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... Long time no see huh? College has been real busy lately so I've not had a whole lot of time to write. This monster however... Istg the entire time I was writing it felt like a fever dream. I finished it in two days and now im posting it. I truly truly do hope you like it cause it's turned into my baby. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -
> 
> Where would I be without you two? Thank you again to my incredible betas! Go check out their amazing works![steviesbucks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviesbucks) [showzen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/showzen)

The Wind is your enemy. Do not befriend her or aim to tame her. Do not let her catch you alone for she  _ will _ take you away. 

Everyone knows she doesn’t take prisoners.

It’s the first thing any of the children in their village is taught. It comes before addition at the schoolhouse, or how to properly wash your clothes in the stream. The threat of the Wind is spoken of before the threat of a stranger for no stranger is as strange as the Wind herself. 

The Wind isn’t your friend and you shouldn’t treat her as such.

It’s an unspoken rule. No matter the day, no matter the season, you are never to leave your house past the ninth hour. It doesn’t matter who you are, once the sky has turned black to be outside is to have a death wish. For it is no matter where you are, in the village centre, or the fields filled with wheat past the church, or in the dense forest that surrounds them - the Wind will see.

No matter that Maria had grown the same as every other child in the village, she felt a strange connection to the wind. She never tried to go near it, simply helped her grandmother tend to their crops, then helped her father—whilst he was still filled with fervour and life—load their yields into their rickety old cart. In the early morning light of dawn the next day, she would wave him off, one hand raised in farewell and the other one grasping her skirts in a makeshift plea for his safety. 

She knew that the journey to their neighbouring village wasn't long and with the right pace could be made early in the morning to return in the late afternoon. The night brought danger in its darkness and to travel in it was madness. 

Yet, as Maria would stand there, fingers clutching tight, she always had a peculiar feeling lingering low in her stomach. It was the feeling of doubt. Her grandmother told her it was unfounded, that the journey was as safe as any journey past their walls could be and to chin up.

When the next dawn broke and her father hadn’t returned, her grandmother didn’t speak, simply nodded and pressed a shaky kiss to her forehead. There was no need to discuss what had happened as they both knew. 

The Wind never takes prisoners.

-

It’s many years later, Maria is grown now and a woman in her own right, when she broaches the subject with her grandmother.

“Grandmother,” She starts, hesitant to ask but the question has been rattling around in the back of her mind like spare coin in a jar for days, “the Wind, why is she the way she is?”

Her grandmother glances at her, her gnarled hands gripping a spoon that she uses to stir the stew on the cooking top. She looks apprehensive, but there’s knowing in her steely gaze all the same. It’s as if she understands Maria’s urge to understand.

Maria can’t help but go on, wishing to explain herself and fill this cold silence she’s brought about. “It’s just... the travellers from the other villages and the  _ towns _ , they speak of winds utterly unlike ours. They’re calmer and you can walk in them! They’re simply part of the weather like... the rain or the shine of the sun!” She pauses, looking down at her hands, the same hands that waved her father to his death all those years ago. She looks up, into her grandmother's eyes and asks-

“ _ Why _ is ours so different?”

She shocks herself with the unfiltered emotion in her voice, so utterly, unlike her usual calm indifference that she wishes she had a moment to ponder what it means.

Of course, Maria’s not lucky like that and her grandmother ambles to take a seat across from her. Her face is as twisted as her knuckles and the deep lines in her face are shrouded with sorrow.

“Maria,” Her grandmother lets out a hoarse laugh, tired and alive, elderly and youthful. She reaches across the table to grab her hand, grip strong even with age. “You remind me so  _ much  _ of me as a girl.”

Maria pauses and glances at her with confusion. Maria has always been strong and wiry, with a shock of dark hair and built like an ox, they would joke. She’s the same as her father in build and spirit and nothing like the gentile woman her mother was claimed to be.

Her grandmother laughs that same chuckle again. “I can see your mind working, silly girl. You think I'm wrong but I'm not. It’s a gift that comes with age, wisdom. You may have the same fight as your father, Maria, but that determination? That intuition? That’s your mother’s. It’s  _ mine _ .”

Maria grasps the hand tighter, the intensity shocking her and making her blink back her emotions.

“Now, Maria. I can answer your questions but I need to know...”

“What is it, Grandmother?” She’s leaning closer, her body tilting as if that will bring the answers she’s longing for since she was a child to her faster.

“The story I will tell you is long and one I tried to understand many, many years ago. It’s a story that cost my brother his life.” There are tears pooling in the corner of her eyes now as she speaks.

“I hadn’t known…”

Her grandmother shakes her head and raises her free hand to wipe them away. “I wouldn’t have expected you to have, my dear. I’m afraid I’m the only one who remembers.” She lets out a watery chuckle and wipes the continuing tears away. “You feel a connection to the Wind, don't you?” She raises her hand as if she knew Maria was about to interject, ”It’s of no concern to me. All I need to know is that you swear on everything that is sacred to you that you won’t do as my brother did. That you won’t push that far.”

She’s silent for a moment and she knows her grandmother won’t continue until she says something.

“...I promise.” 

She knows without it being said that her grandmother doesn’t believe her. She supposes she can’t blame her. 

She doesn’t believe herself.

“Very well, then. I suppose,” Her grandmother heaves out a sigh, ”It started like this… I was fourteen and as curious as you. The Winds had been around long before I was born and everyone I spoke to seemed to think so too. I lived with my mother, my father and my brother.”

“What was his name?” Maria asks softly.

Her grandmother smiles, gentle and nostalgic. “Steven. He was a kind soul, my Steven - adventurous and charming. He wanted nothing more than to leave, to adventure and see the world.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Ah, you’re aware of what this place is like. People trapped in their ways, always going through each day as if it were the same as the last. It was the same when I was a girl as it is now. Now, Steven had never been as…  _ outspoken  _ as I was as a child. He said it was rather the thing he admired the most about me, how I was always willing to speak my mind. That’s why when he asked me the very same thing I told him I didn’t know.”

“As children, we would play in the forest, weaving in and out of the trees, laughing and singing the songs our mother sang, the ones I sang to you. On this day, we went further, deeper into the woods where we no longer could hear the workers in the fields. It grew darker the further we went in but we weren’t deterred. Or to say, Steven wasn't deterred. I believed we should turn around, run home to Mother and the safety of our house. He insisted of course, that we keep going and that ‘we had forever until the Winds roll in’. Silly boy he was but I idolised him. So on we went, further into the forest until the sky was no longer visible and the thickets grew dense. I have yet to live through such a dense silence, but out there where no sounds could draw in and the birds had long since scattered, it was as if I could hear the blood rushing through my body.”

“We walked and we talked, chattering as we played with hornbeam swords and shields of bark. Then so suddenly that it felt like magic, we entered a clearing. It was a wide, expansive open clearing and there in the centre surrounded by bushes of the reddest roses I had ever seen sat a house. It’s roof sloped and the door was chipped but it was perhaps the most beautiful house I had ever seen. I turned to Steven and saw he had the same awestruck expression that I knew had covered my own face. I opened my mouth to exclaim something- I’m afraid time has washed away whatever I thought was so pertinent- and then that beautiful, chipped door swung open.”

“There was no need to be afraid though, not really, as the woman who stepped out offered the both of us this-  _ smile _ . She ushered us in and the house was all the more beautiful inside. The woman introduced herself as Wanda and sat us at her table. She was at the same time as old as time and as young as the dew. Years later, I wonder if I was exaggerating the things I remember but the way her skin flickered is ingrained into my consciousness, I think I’d be a fool to disregard it. She was truly beautiful, with long chestnut hair and soft skin, but the longer that we sat with her sipping cups of herbal tea, the easier it was to notice the strands of grey that would mar her hair every few seconds or the paper-soft skin of her hands. We didn’t mind for she  _ truly _ was remarkable. It was an adventure, sitting in this house in the forest with a woman we knew couldn’t have been as human as we.”

“Well, the weeks went by and Steven and I went back. Wanda was careful to send us off with  time enough to spare and our pockets laden with treats. That was something we noticed about Wanda. She was… not  _ cautious _ but she knew of the Wind and she knew more than we did. She spoke of her softly, carefully as if she didn’t wish to stir her into action. On one of our walks home after an afternoon with Wanda, Steven turned to me and asked ‘Sister, do you think she knows  _ why  _ we have the Wind?’. I stopped walking as it had never occurred to me. ‘Perhaps she does, Steven, but what right do we have to ask?’. He said nothing more of it as we traipsed through those woods but I knew he was contemplating it. The only issue was, I was too.”

“It was a week later when I told Steven I’d do it. He’d turned to me, confused as to  _ what  _ I was doing. I didn’t reply, just picked up my pace and my skirt as I climbed the mountainous roots. We reached her house as we always did and barely stopped to gaze at it. If only the girl I was knew it would be the last time I’d see her.”

“My brother and I, we entered the house and Wanda simply sat us down, gave us our tea and began speaking. Somehow she knew, I don’t know how but I never knew anything when it came to her. She was of this world as much as she wasn’t. It was simply as if she was of the woods. She spoke, her voice as rich and smooth as the honey twisted in our tea, and she wove a story that has stayed alongside me as a companion my entire life. It has stayed with me through my marriage, through childbirth and through mourning. She had a certain way with words, Wanda; her accent was thick but she knew what to say and how to say it to leave you captivated and on the edge of your seat the entire time. When she told a story, time simply felt like molasses, thick and gloopy but as sweet as sugar. It felt as if she were in your head, telling it straight into your memories to be tucked away and kept forever.”

“She sat us down and she told us the tale of a girl with hair the colour of blood and a determination to be more than she was destined for. A girl, whose heart cried over the pools of death on the floor but whose sorrow and misery never made it onto her face. The girl had simply been a  _ girl  _ once, one who lived in this village years before you or I or even the closest of our great ancestors did. She had once been born as Natalia with hair that matched the snow, in the times when our village spoke a differing tongue and wild magic roamed the earth. She was stolen and her family slaughtered, the blood from their mingling bodies coating her pristine hair and turning it into a beacon. They shaped her into a killer, used her for their own gain. It wasn’t until the girl, once Natalia, was sent back to this very village that she truly realised her downfall. Her gentle emotions had been trained into a cold mask, that sweet smile hidden behind blankness.”

“Something in Natalia was triggered that day, perhaps the village itself or the true reality of her life but she ran. She ran and ran, as fast as her legs could take her over the serpentine roots of the forest floor. She didn’t stop until she reached a clearing, by this time a storm had come in. The clouds above Natalia a deep thunderous grey and a wild, untameable wind. As Natalia came to a stop there in that clearing, alone apart from the blistering wind and the dark sky above her, she cried. Alone, she fell to her knees and cried, wishing vengefully for help. She dug her blood-stained hands into the dirt and as her tears fell into the ground, the magic of the forest heard her. It felt her anger and her vengeance, her sorrow and her bone-deep misery, and it absorbed it. The magic around her swirled and swooped around her small figure hunched there in that clearing. It promised her freedom from her captors, vengeance against those who’d wronged her and finally an end to her neverending anguish.”

“She became more than that girl she once was then, more than the killer they made her. She became a force of nature, capable of finally exacting her revenge. That night she found the rest of her captors, who were still in her village, and swept them into her Winds. Without a physical form, she no longer had control of her true emotions. All that was left of Natalia was her vengeance and her desire for freedom. And so the Winds of this village set in, centuries ago when a girl was robbed of her life. The wild magic has long since left the Earth, diffusing out over the centuries as more villages were made and the land was domesticated.”

“I asked you at the start, Maria, to promise me you wouldn’t do what my dear Steven did. This is it. Following the story, we sat there with Wanda. It was an almost eerie silence in the room then, Wanda looked unhappy to have told us at all and Steven? Well, he had a look on his face that I knew all too well. We only asked one question as we left. It was as we’d reached the door and Steven turned back, just once and asked ‘Is it true? That the Wind is really just a girl who wants to come home?’ and Wanda simply nodded once. We left. It wasn’t until we reached the edge of the clearing that we noticed at all: the house was gone.”   


“We went back once but it was empty as we’d left it that day, devoid of life or the rosebushes I’d so loved. The grass stood as if nothing had ever been there at all. We never went back, we didn’t need to. We knew it had gone.  _ I  _ knew though, that my dear Steven was going to attempt something. The weeks following, he quietened. He sat in silence a lot, gazing half-listlessly out of the window, his eyes always searching the forest line as if something may appear. He spoke little to our family, ate enough to get by and was always,  _ always _ , lost in thought.”

“A year passed and he became the boy I had known. I went fifteen in the spring and he went eighteen in the summer. I found him on the eve of that day, a bag packed and a set to his shoulders I hadn’t seen since. He said to me, ‘Sister, I’m sorry for what I must do but it is unjust to leave her there, trapped in her rage and the magic that we once had. I hope you can forgive me.’ He gave me one hug and then he was gone.”

The silence that fills their small room following Grandmother's final words is heavy. It settles around their shoulders like a thick fur, weighing them down and leaving them unable to move. They sit, two marble statues, for an eternity until the pop of the stove jolts them from their stupors. 

Her grandmother moves as fast as her aching joints will allow her, moving the pot from the stovetop and smothering the flame. 

For a moment, Maria feels like the stew in the pot, too warm and too full of things to distinguish any one of them. She doesn’t know what to make of any of it from the magic that had crackled across grass or the sorrowful girl, trapped alone in a Wind that never ends. Everything she’s ever known of the Wind has suddenly been given context. 

A girl, broken and hurt, trapped in her own web of vengeance and sorrow until she slowly lost the person she was. All she had wanted was her freedom.

_ The Wind is your enemy. Do not befriend her or aim to tame her. Do not let her catch you alone for she will take you away.  _

Words she learnt as a child. Words so ingrained into her very being that they were perfected before she even knew what they truly  _ meant _ . Yet now, Maria sits with her entire worldview broken into pieces and scattered across the ground without regard.

She knows what she has to do. Unsure of  _ how _ , exactly, she knows except an intuitive feeling that leaves a deep ache within her bones and bright sparks skirting tenderly across her skin. The sparks leave goosebumps in their wake and she shivers. She knows deep in herself what she has to do. Thinking of the reluctant promise she’d made to her grandmother she feels guilt crawl up her spine but it’s overridden by the desire- no, the  _ knowledge _ of what she has to do. It sits in her stomach even as she covers it with the stew her grandmother serves her. It follows her through the house and to her bedroom once she’d cleaned away their dishes to be washed in the river in the morning.

_ The Wind is your enemy. Do not befriend her or aim to tame her. Do not let her catch you alone for she will take you away.  _

It stays, a lingering feeling tickling behind her ear for next week but Maria knows.

She has to help the girl tangled in her own web.

-

She starts small, little offerings of peace. She understands why Steven’s plan never worked: there was no planning, simply rushing in without a full attempt. She pretends that it's the five year age difference to what Steven would have been to Maria now and ignores the niggling feeling that it runs deeper than that.

She goes during the day time to the edge of the forest and lays offerings of berries and sweet wine out. She speaks the prayers they say in church, fingers rubbing together as she sprinkles sand around her clusters. She leaves hours before the Wind starts.

It takes a week to see that it’s not making a difference. She swears in frustration and wipes her sandy hands along her skirts.

The next week, Maria moves her offerings two hours closer to the ninth hour. 

Another week and no change. 

Spring is becoming summer and she can no longer ignore the lack of progress. The failures slowly wearing her down and her belief in herself dims like the candles that line the pews. She thinks it's rather fitting, as she walks up to the forest edge to try a final time, that what had once started as bright and hopeful can end up lacklustre and smouldering. 

Except, when she gets to the edge, the air feels different. Almost electric. She scuffs the busted leather of her boot against the grass where she’d planned on laying her offerings and looks up, past the tree line and into the darkness of the forest. Before she can talk herself out of it, her legs are carrying her over the grassy mound that acts as a border and down onto the damp moss that covers the forest floor. Only a foot away from where she was standing, the light feels…  _ different _ and the air is filled with a vaguely murky scent. Unsure of what she’s doing, Maria casts one last look at her village before she continues through the clusters of trees. She stumbles once, her boot catching on a root that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She rights herself with a huff and a hand around a low hanging branch. She continues on, carefully stepping over rocks and sliding across moss clinging to roots. 

It’s almost fun, she thinks to herself, even as her ankle gets stuck and she stumbles a good three feet.

She looks up.

It's everything Grandmother had described. Rose bushes so red and full that they shine under the streams of light from the top of the clearing. There, in the centre of it all, is the house, with its chipped door and its crooked roof. 

A smile overtakes her face and she’s stumbling towards it, the door opening before she’s even halfway there. She stops in her tracks, skidding over the slightly damp grass beneath her soles.

Wanda steps out, long chestnut hair with flickering grey strands hanging in loose curls and braids around her shoulders. Her skin is smooth and flawless except when it’s not and then she has crows eyes and smile lines and wrinkles on her forehead. Her dress sweeps around her ankles in endless waves and when she smiles a beatific smile, Maria can’t help but smile back.

Maria raises a hand in an aborted half-wave before lowering it and continuing her walk across the clearing. 

Wanda simply smiles, enters the house again and holds the door open further.

“Welcome, Maria. You’re right on time.”

-

The inside of the house is just as pretty as she’d thought it’d be, all soft peach curtains and carefully carved wooden furniture. Wanda leads her inside and gestures to a seat at a polished wooden table. She places a clay cup and a plate of berry pastries in front of Maria before settling in gently across from her. Maria thanks her softly before taking a small sip of the drink. A small, pleased smile finds her face as the first hints of soft, herbal tea with honey reaches her tongue. 

Wanda asks no questions until she’s finished her drink and a half of a tart made of a blue and pink berry Maria has never seen before. It tastes slightly like a strawberry but the warmth that fills her mouth and the tingles that dance along her lips assure her it’s not. When Maria places her cup down, Wanda looks at her, her head resting in one youthful-paper-thin hand. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” Wanda asks, smooth like molasses.

Maria hesitates, unsure of what answer she may be looking for.

“The truthful one would be preferred.” Wanda’s voice startles her, somehow having read her very thoughts. Her mouth, probably gaping like the fish in the stream, shuts with an audible  _ clack _ as she pulls herself together.

_ Ignore the mindreading, Maria,  _ she thinks,  _ focus on the question.  _ _  
_

“It’s to do with the girl in the wind, I believe.”

“Ah yes,” Wanda twirls her finger lazily, “You believe there’s a connection there?”

Maria almost groans, the first person who actually knows what she feels and she believes her to be insane. She palms her forehead, closing her eyes. 

“No. Yes? There’s something there. I know it but there is. If there wasn’t then what reason would you have had to come back after all this time?”

Wanda makes a sound of affirmation and dips her head slightly. “You’re correct on one part, of course. The other well… I never left and I’m not truly here either.”

“You’re of the old magic?” Maria can’t help but ask, wanting to be cautious but unable in light of such information.

Wanda laughs, low and crackling. It should be a sound made in mockery, only it's not - it's humour at Maria’s own human ignorance. “Child, I am not  _ of  _ wild magic, as you say, like the Wind. I  _ am  _ magic in its own right.”

Unable to form a true response to such a grand statement she settles on nodding her head and sipping her tea. There’s a pregnant pause, bated breath and tension swirling together around them. She fixates on the grain of the wood and reaches over, tracing it with her index finger.

“How do I help her?” The desperation that leaks into her voice surprise her again, as it did those weeks ago. 

Wanda leans forwards, her head resting in one of her hands. “Why do you care?” Is what she asks.

Maria is left feeling sucker-punched, the air in her lungs taken and leaving her nothing to breathe in. Her throat feels tight and full of glass as she murmurs, “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth, she doesn’t know. Maybe she cares because of human decency, maybe she cares because she can’t stand to think of another person so tormented through the years. Or maybe, it's something else entirely.

Wanda watches her for a moment as the air still won’t return to her lungs.

Wanda gives her an appraising nod and sits up straighter. Maria can’t help but follow suit.

“I don’t know fully how to help her,” She raises those frail-strong hands before Maria can groan, “I’ve tried over the years, to…” She licks her lips and her hands clasp into fists, “I have tried to speak to her, to get through to her and break her from her mental purgatory but I’ve been unsuccessful. The wonders of the mind are my speciality usually, except for this once.” The words must be physical shards if the pained grimace Wanda gives is anything to go off. “She simply won’t respond. She’s become static. The ties of wild magic around her are so strong that now, even though I try, they resist the tug to come undone. But maybe… you could make her see.”

“But why me?” 

Wanda’s eyes widen, a small gasp leaving her mouth. She pauses, humming contemplatively. “I can’t say for certain. All I know is that you’re attuned for whatever reason. She may listen to you if you talk to her,” she says.

“I’ve been trying! You must have seen, I’ve left offerings and prayers and she’s heard none-”

“She is not a God so do not communicate with her like one. She is the husk of a scared girl and the prayers to your God will not help you here. Your grandmother knew that as a child, even if she was unaware of it. It is why she disapproved so deeply of Steven doing what he did.”

Maria shouldn’t ask but she does anyway, her mind focused on fathers and captors and brothers. “What… What happens to the people who she takes?”

“They’re absorbed. Their inherent magic, if they have any, is taken and their bodies along with it.”

“Do you think she intends to do it? Take people, I mean.”

“At first, yes. She wanted vengeance and for the people who made her suffer to suffer too. Then,” Wanda sighs, her flickering hands pushing brown-grey curls from her face. “I think it’s instinct now. Never intended, never done with purpose. Simply whoever’s closest. She never wanted to hurt people, really.”

Maria is aware she’s pushing it, but the itch inside her keeps running ahead and she can’t help but follow. “Did you… know her? Before?”

Wanda shakes her head slightly, not in disagreement but in thought. “I’d seen her, once, when her family went on a picnic but of course, I thought nothing of it. She was a happy girl though. It’s a shame she was stained.”

Maria lowers her head in thanks, knowing her time in the clearing is coming to an end.

She stands, Wanda following suit, and lets her lead her to the door. She nods once more to Wanda before stepping out of the chipped door and walking straight past the roses. She doesn’t turn until she reaches the edge of the clearing and even knowing what she’ll see doesn’t prepare her.

Nothing could prepare her for the emptiness of the clearing. 

She closes her eyes and leans back against the trunk of a tall hornbeam tree until the dizziness and bottomless emptiness subsides. Opening her eyes, she glances at the sky. If she’s correct, she has two hours before the ninth hour and if she’s not? Well, at least the Winds will have her.

She moves to sit in the middle of the clearing, space now emptied and the grass undisturbed. She runs the grass between her fingers for a moment before sighing and laying down fully. 

_ What a strange turn my life has taken as of late _ , she thinks to herself,  _ laying by myself in a clearing in a forest perhaps about to get swallowed by the Winds. _

She lets out a chuckle and then another until she’s gasping for air. The leaves on the trees swish once, twice and before quietening down. She thinks she understands what they’re saying.

“What would you be like, do you think, if you were here and human again?” She asks no one and someone at the same time. “Did you enjoy others' company before it all went to rot? I imagine I sound rather barmy, laying here on my own, talking to the wind but I find that I rather don’t care. I’ve always thought the best listeners aren’t human.” She sighs, a quiet sound in the huge clearing. “Or, partially human in your case I suppose.”

The leaves rustle once, twice again and this time she can’t help but grin.

“I will help you if I can. I think everyone deserves a second chance. I’m just not certain how to go about it yet.”

With that, she heaves herself up, thinking it's rather too late to still be out. She dusts her hands off on her skirt as she makes her way steadily the way she came. Filled with a sudden urge, she glances over her shoulder to see the leaves rustle. Once, then twice.

She finishes her walk home with a soft smile firmly in place.

-

It becomes routine: she finishes her work in the fields, helps the group on their way to market with their packing before she makes her way through the forest to that clearing. She lays there and talks of everything and nothing. Slowly, she becomes comfortable in a way she never has been. 

It should be strange.

Yet it’s not.

-

It’s nearing the end of November when it happens. Nearly half a year has passed since she asked- since she first  _ cared. _

She goes to the clearing as she would usually, a thick woollen fleece wrapped around her shoulders and a wicker basket in hand. She lays down and closes her eyes and simply  _ talks _ .

She talks about the fields and her grandmother and the nice ladies at church who talk about marriage prospects and she doesn’t mean to, she’s simply become too comfortable. So when her head slowly starts drooping and her eyes slide shut, she thinks nothing of it, forgets all about why she needs to stay awake.

She doesn't remember until she wakes to the thundering sound of Wind all around her. The force of it tugs her fleece from around her shoulders and sends it flying off into the air. Powerful blasts of air grapple with her dark hair, spilling it around her like an inkblot. 

She’s broken her promise to her grandmother. Deep down she knew she would, knew that the connection and desperation inside her would never let her stop until it got its way.

_ You won’t push that far. _

It echoes around her head as she curls as tightly as she can, cursing her own stupidity and idiocy as the Winds rage around her when they-

Stop.

It’s entirely quiet in the clearing. The sky is dark but the trees don’t move. In fact, when Maria raises her head, they don’t rustle at all. She doesn’t know what to think

She sits up fully, aware of the danger she may be in when she hears it. Not loud but soft, gentle breathing from behind her.

She turns so fast, the grass around her swishes yet the woman in front of her doesn’t startle. her blood-red hair is white on the ends and Maria understands.

She can barely hold in her own gasp when she moves towards her. She’s draped in fine, white cloth, so sheer and soft it might float away at the gentlest of breezes.

Maria says nothing as she walks towards her, red hair glinting in the starlight. She releases her breath when she moves to stand in front of Maria. A soft hand stained red at the tips is lifted and strokes her cheek. Maria’s eyes flutter shut, unused to the soft touch.

“You spoke to me.”

Maria keeps her eyes closed and nods.

“No one has ever done that for me before.”

“I’m so sorry-” It’s spoken before she can take it back, breathless and so, so desperate.

“Why did you do it?” 

The answer comes easily, fluid and ready. “Because you needed me.” Her eyes are still shut so she opens them slowly and gazes into green eyes. “I think I needed you too.”

A small smile finds its way onto her face, quirking the pale skin enough to dimple. Maria had thought her heart couldn’t flutter any faster.

The breeze-soft touch on her cheek becomes firmer and she leans her cheeks into cold fingers. 

“I have to leave.”

Maria’s eyebrows crease. “But you just got here,” She says low and grabs her other hand.

“I’m afraid my time here is only short. I’ve yet to be whole so I can’t stay long,” She says with a quirk of her lips and gazes up at Maria fully for the first time. Her green eyes reflect starlight when she says, “I’m beginning to learn how.”

“Will you come back?” Maria says, voice rough and desperate, hands clasping her elbows in an attempt to bring her closer.

She simply smiles and steps back. “I am a portion of what I once was, Maria Hill. My parts are strung up in a web of my own volition. Eventually, I’ll fit myself back together.”

“I’ll help you!” Maria’s knees feel weak and unsteady as if she’s been walking for days.

“That you will.” Another soft smile is all Maria sees before her world goes black.

-

Maria wakes in her own bed, with her fleece covering her and the basket on the floor. She wonders momentarily if it had been a dream. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a small twig clinging to the wool that hadn’t been there before.

She smiles goofily to herself, and then to the ceiling before she forces herself from her bed.

-

Maria goes back every night, to talk, to sing, to dance in the clearing in the hope she’ll show again.

Some nights she does, others she doesn’t. 

On the nights she does show, Maria can breathe easy. She mostly stays quiet after that first time, content to allow Maria to do most of the talking. On some glorious days, she joins in, her voice quiet and hoarse. They don’t talk about her past, or the Winds or the magic that had grabbed her. They speak of easy things like this year's crops and the bread Grandmother had baked.

It’s simple. Sweet words, chaste and unsure, shared in the dying light. 

On the nights she doesn’t show, the Wind calms just enough for Maria to reach home safely.

Maria knows the villager's talk of the nights where the air remains fresh and the Winds don’t swirl. People begin to wait until the ninth hour, to see if the Wind will swirl around them tonight or if they can sit in peace and breath in the night air. 

Maria doesn’t see it herself, of course, as she’s sat in the clearing. Every night, one after the other, waiting to see if she’ll arrive.

When she returns, late in the evenings with a flush high on her cheeks and her hands raw from the cold, her grandmother simply shakes her head and says nothing. She knows the true reason the Winds have calmed.

-

Autumn turns to winter turns to spring and she visits every day when the snow doesn’t cover the ground in white or rain doesn’t fall in thick sheets. 

Spring brings the animals from their dens and flowers cover the ground in multicoloured blankets. The trees grow their leaves in thick clusters, beginning to grow buds for the fruit that will be picked in the months to come. 

The air is still and calm as Maria meanders through her village. With the sun high in the sky and her sleeves rolled to her elbows, she allows herself a moment between the chores of the village to just breathe.

She passes by two of the women she knows to work in the school. They’re sat on a flat rock next to the side of the winding path built through the town. Between them, they have a small loaf of bread, some cheese and some berries.

She doesn’t mean to hear their conversation as she walks by but their voices are loud and their joviality high. 

“How prepared are the children for tomorrow?” The first woman asks. Maria thinks she’s called Agneta, but she’s never been the best at remembering names.

Then what she’s said clicks in Maria’s brain. Tomorrow. Their village’s annual festival was to be held in the afternoon of the next day. With her work and the visits, the event had slipped from Maria’s mind entirely.

“Quite, I think,” The second lady - who Maria remembers to be Elizabeth - chimes in. “They’ve finished their offerings but with the changing patterns lately, some of them have become confused.”

Agneta nods sagely. “I’ve noticed that too. How can you pray for safety from something that’s becoming docile?”

Elizabeth grabs a chunk of the bread and chews thoughtfully. “Perhaps, the ceremony in the morning will allow the evening to be clear. It would be nice to continue the dancing later on,” She sighs dreamily, “How I do love dancing.”

“That I’m aware of, my sweet.” Agneta gives her companion a soft smile.

Maria turns away at that, not wishing to intrude on a private moment any more than she already has.

Knowing what she has to do, she strides towards the forest. The two women had given a purpose to today's visit whether they were aware or not. 

She reaches the knoll at the edge of the forest in record time. Her boots no longer skid as she climbs into the now-familiar woodland. The trees seem to make a path for her as she finds herself reaching the clearing far faster than she usually does.

The clearing is as empty as it usually is at this time but the leaves shake ever so slightly.

Having reached her destination, she slows her pace and allows herself a stroll to the centre. Maria carefully lowers herself onto the ground, the grass underneath her soft and bright. The air is warm, content, and draws itself around her as she makes herself comfortable. With her skirts spread evenly around her knees, she takes a brief pause.

Even after months of returning to the clearing, she never truly stops appreciating its otherworldly beauty. The sun seems that much brighter and the trees stand still for the most part. When they stir, swaying gently, she knows her message has been received and the feeling of peace within her settles.

“It’s your festival tomorrow,” She says, speaking out into the air. ”Do you see it usually? Do you watch it?”

The leaves rustle once, then twice.

She smiles gently. “I overheard two women on my way here, it’s the reason why I’m early. One of them spoke of dancing in the evening.” She pauses, glancing around. “The people, they have hope now. They wish for festivities and joy and times when they need not be afraid of a curfew. Will you join me tonight? So we can let them enjoy their time without fear.”

There’s no answer for a moment.

Then a rustle in the trees. Once, then twice.

It’s the first moment in which she has allowed Maria to know when she’s coming.

Maria grins and flops back against the grass. She talks of her day, of the gossip her grandmother had relayed over breakfast, and of the livestock and their young.

Eventually, her eyes droop and she slips off into a peaceful slumber. She dreams of bright eyes and red hair, hands that are tipped with blood yet touch so softly. She dreams of a house in a clearing surrounded by red roses where an otherworldly woman lives. In her dreams, two children frolic in the flowers, until the thorns prick their fingers and the ground swallows the red droplets.

Maria comes to under a sky of stars, her head pillowed on soft silk. The sensation of a hand running through her hair makes her open her eyes blearily and raise a hand to wipe away the sleep sand.

Maria’s eyes focus on green eyes and red hair, becoming whiter every time she graces Maria with her presence, as she gazes down at her. Her hand never stops its careful ministrations and Maria relaxes back into the gentle touch.

“I heard your words.”

Maria nods her head, doing nothing more than rubbing her face on the silky fabric under her cheek.

“You’re a far kinder person than you give yourself credit for.” Her voice is raspy but it’s laced with fondness.

Maria opens her eyes again, not wanting to have this conversation in such a vulnerable position. “I only asked because I believed you’d do it,” Maria says but she’s already shaking her head.

“I did what you asked because of your kindness, your willingness to help. You make me want to learn.”

Maria doesn’t know how to answer her question so she sits up and rests against the slight shoulders next to her. 

“What shall I call you?” Is what she asks, not wanting to voice her true thoughts and scare her away.

She smiles after a brief pause. “I was waiting for when you would ask this. I thank you for your tact. It’s been so long since I had a name,” She says with a hoarse chuckle. Then she sighs a guttural, heart-wrenching sigh. At that moment she looks more conflicted and pained than any of the other times they’d spoken. “Natalia isn’t right, not… Not anymore. Perhaps something similar.” They pause for a moment, their silence thoughtful. “Natasha,” She says, the beginnings of a bright smile forming on her face. She turns to look at Maria as if gauging her response.

“Natasha, then. It’s a beautiful name.”

The smile that finally fills Natasha's face causes a flurry of sparks to fill Maria’s belly. She knocks their shoulders together, once, before resting them there and soaking in the warmth from her skin.

The trees around them rustle once, then twice.

-

One evening in early summer finds their positions reversed. With Natasha’s hair flowing softly through her hands and a gentle breeze on her skin, Maria allows herself to ask what had been troubling her, “Did it hurt?”

Natasha doesn’t open her eyes but her small frame tenses. “Yes.”

Maria lets out a pained sound, unable to hide it even if she’d wanted to. Her heart seized in pain for the woman in her lap and she bent over, her own hair mingling with Natasha’s. 

“I’m so  _ sorry _ .” Sorry for her pain. Sorry for how alone she must have been. Sorry for not coming sooner.

Natasha shakes her head, foreheads knocking together as she whispers, “Don’t be,” as if she knows everything Maria won’t say.

They stay like that for a moment, breath intermingling between as they sit with their foreheads pressed together. 

Maria doesn’t speak of it, but she knows deep down that this moment unlocked the feelings she ignored for the sake of keeping Natasha safe. 

As she walks from the clearing later that night, the trees rustling around her and the moon's light illuminating her path, she knows for certain of one thing.

She’s in love with Natasha.

-

Summer passes and autumn is in full force. The trees lose their leaves in waves, the floor scattered with orange and brown that remind Maria of the heat of a fire.

The late afternoon sun finds Maria packing her provisions into her satchel ready for her normal visit. As she places a small flask of water into the bag, a sharp knock resonates from through the room.

Her grandmother stands in the doorway, her face neutral. She’s steady, eyes sharp and watchful as she glances at Maria’s pack. Only then does Maria notice her hand, resting slightly behind her and hidden from view, wringing her skirt. 

“Your girl, she’s not visited in a few weeks, has she?” 

Maria stops, standing taller as dread fills her stomach.

“The air is different today. The Wind is planning something,” She says. “Be careful,” She doesn’t.

Maria nods slightly, unfocused, and kisses her cheek. The dread sits pooled in her stomach like lead as she treks her way to the forest. The path she takes is a well worn one by now and muscle memory takes her on her way as she thinks. 

Her grandmother had been right, Natasha hadn’t been since the start of the season. Maria had spent hours wondering if she’d done something wrong but when she asked, she gained no response. She went back every night, hoping to apologise but when Natasha never showed, her faith sunk deeper and deeper into her chest.

A rock under the edge of her boot brings her back to herself as she reaches the edge. The roots can no longer trick her, bar when her mind is on other issues, so she steps over them with ease and carefully traipses her way to the clearing. 

Maria reaches the clearing, taking unsure steps until she stands in the centre. She scuffs her boots against the grass, the ground beneath her feet worn out from her routine steps.

“I’m not sure if you’re here but I’m back,” She kneels down and unbuckles her satchel as she talks, “Grandmother says the air is strange today. That wouldn’t be your doing, would it?” She tries, aiming for a joke. When she gains no response she flops to the ground, her skirts swirling around her. 

She sighs and runs a hand over her hair, pulled back tightly and neatly. “I miss you,” She whispers to the grass.

She doesn’t notice it until a moment too late. The air comes raging in brutal against her, unlike the calm, gentle breezes that had fluttered over her. It’s like before. Then she glances at the sky, still grey and bright and thinks, _no._ _It’s too_ _early._

The wind continues to batter her, slicing at her skin and leaving her without oxygen. She tries to suck in a breath but the tirade continues to push at her. It slams into her stomach, leaving her wheezing on the ground and unable to breathe. Maria’s face turns red, then as purple as the plums, her grandmother eats, as the lack of oxygen slowly drains the fight out of her.

_ Perhaps,  _ she thinks,  _ this is the ending I was always destined to have. In this clearing and without the woman I love, as the Winds that had so enraptured me are my downfall. _

As the edges of her vision begin to turn inky, Maria hears a shrill shriek pierce through the wailing of the Wind. The scream increases in volume until her head begins to pound from their combined forces.

As abruptly as they’d started, the Winds move their focus away from Maria. The shrieks turn to pained yells as Maria sucks in a deep, endless breath and rolls onto her stomach. Her watering eyes can barely focus but in front of her, knelt on the ground is the faint silhouette of a woman. 

_ Natasha. _

Her hands are clenched in the dirt as the Wind pummels into her full force. Her dress swims around her, a ribbon of white and blood-red from the scarlet tears streaming down her face, Maria can make out her words that the ringing in her ears has slightly subsided. She’s shaking, stiff and filled with rage.

Maria tries to shout or move closer but her body is battered and bruised and her throat is closed up. 

Natasha keeps yelling, brutal and hoarse sounds that are ripped from her throat and swallowed by the Wind. She’s fighting it, Maria realises. Sparks skim their way across the ground and join the Wind in its battle. Together, they swirl around Natasha hunched form and attack her without mercy.

She wants it to stop, she wants to stand and reach for her, to pull the woman she loves from the target board she’s pinned on.

The Wind keeps coming, faster and faster, howling as it attacks. Natasha’s composure has faltered and she’s upright now, facing the wind head-on even as ruby-tears are pulled from her eyes.

Natasha's body goes ramrod-straight, her fists clenched at her sides and her eyes wide open. She screams something, loud and bruising. The Wind stops all at once, it’s terrible force leaving a ringing silence behind.

Maria begins to slowly crawl forwards, her aching body trying to reach Natasha. She doesn’t make it, with one hand stretched towards her body, The Wind comes back, stronger than it had ever been. Magic swirls around them, a blinding flash of reds and purple and burning white, that hit Natasha without mercy.

Maria screams, scrambling forwards to reach her, to  _ save her _ , but she slips, her head hitting the corner of a rock sticking from the earth.

The sky explodes in colour as Maria’s vision goes black.

-

She awakes to a frantic commotion. She’s in her room, laying in her bed and surrounded by her familiar blanket. The sounds of her grandmother barking orders make their way to her battered ears. A soothing touch trails over her hair, fingers delicate and shaky as they smooth down the strands.

As soon as she cracks open her eyes, the room descends into further chaos.

“She’s awake!”

“Get out of the way and let me dress her wounds, you silly girl.”

“She needs these herbs, they’ll ease the pain!”

A sharp voice to her left cuts through the madness, “You all need to  _ be quiet. _ You need to leave and let her grandmother finish.” 

_ Natasha _ .

Maria turns her head to look and sure enough, Natasha sits next to her, at once the same and completely different to the last time she saw her. Her hair, once mainly red, is now white, only the roots remaining scarlet. Her dress is gone, dumped in a torn heap on the end of Maria’s bed and she’s wearing one of Maria’s dresses, too large in the shoulders and trailing on the floor. Her voice is strong but her hands shaky. 

Maria’s grandmother gives her a sharp, approving nod whilst one of the girls turns her nose in disgust. 

“Why should we trust you? You bring her here, covered in blood but without injuries following a storm no one in the village can explain.”

Natasha doesn’t respond, simply looks at her before the other girl grabs her friends shoulder and drags her from the room. They nod at Maria’s grandmother before walking through the door.

Maria looks at Natasha, standing next to her in her room in the village, hair the colour of snow bar the red roots on her head. She looks healthier, more whole, even as she stands in unfamiliar surroundings and wearing Maria’s too large clothing

Maria is breathless and winded from the forces of the gales, even the thought of speaking hurts but as Natasha glances down at her with a small, scared smile, she reaches out a hand.

The red-tipped hand that had been in Maria’s hair, snakes down her arm and gently grasps her hand. Maria’s arm is bruised but the dirt has been wiped off it.

A sharp cough breaks through the peaceful silence they were in. Natasha whips her head towards Grandmother, fidgety and unsure now that the girls were gone.

Grandmother stumbles forward and runs a hand across Maria’s forehead. She stares down at her, grey eyes searching and flecked with worry. “I suppose you’re the girl that has taken our Maria’s undivided attention this past year?” Grandmother asks, not yet looking at Natasha.

Beside her, Natasha sucks in a quick breath. With a  _ look _ towards Maria, she replies, “I believe so?”

Finally, Grandmother looks up at Natasha, appraising her hair and her blood-tipped hands. “You’ll do her well, you hear me? I’ll let you have a moment and then, Miss, we’re going to talk.” At that, Grandmother moves away and walks from the room without so much as a glance back.

The two women are left in pregnant silence, only the sounds of their combined breathing echoing through the room. 

Natasha looks down and sits gingerly on the edge of Maria’s bed. “Thank you,” she murmurs into Maria’s shoulder, carefully so as not to disturb her aching body.

“Don’t thank me, you did all the work,” Maria mumbles back, face pressed against her soft hair.

“ _ No.  _ You got hurt trying to help me. You  _ helped me _ ,” Natasha's voice is choked up as she pulls back far enough to look Maria in the eyes.”You came back every day, Maria, for a  _ year.  _ You came back even though I never showed.” She sounds on the edge of tears, her voice thick and filled with emotion.

She doesn’t want to ask but she has to, she  _ needs _ to gain answers. “Why… didn’t you come?”

Natasha shakes her head, her snowy hair falling into her face. “The magic, it, it thought it was losing its grip on me because I…” The fear in her eyes stops Maria in her tracks.

She raises an arm, ignoring the glaring pain in her shoulder as she does so, to push some hair behind Natasha’s ear. “Because you what?”

“Because I  _ loved you _ .” At this, the dam inside of Natasha broke, spilling out and flooding everything in its tracks. “You talked to me for the first time in years and you-  _ Maria.  _ You made me  _ feel something  _ again.”

“It could’ve been anyone,” Maria tries to say before Natasha’s shaking her head wildly.

“No. It was  _ you _ . The magic relied on my sadness and you, in all of your strange ways, gave me hope. You came and told me you missed me and all I longed for was to go to you and tell you I _missed you too._ The magic knew that the hope you gave me would make me wish to leave, to finally break free of the restraints I put myself in.”

Maria tugs her back in, ignoring the pain in her body and letting her gently sag against Maria’s chest. “I love you too,” she whispers into her ear.

Natasha gently pushes back just enough, to place a soft kiss against her lips.

Maria presses back, gently cupping her neck with a shaky hand. 

Natasha is finally free and Maria believes that with it, she is too. 

-

The Wind is no longer your enemy. Befriend her but never aim to tame her. 

Everyone knows she was the prisoner all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hoped you enjoyed it. It means the world whenever I get a comment so please leave a comment or kudos. Thank you all for the support and check out my other works if you enjoyed.
> 
> I have another Blackhill fic here: [Fragile Like Glass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513088)
> 
> I'm [hazzarat](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/hazzarat) on tumblr so feel free to message me with prompts if you want to!


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